I can't believe I haven't spoken to my dad in six months.

It has been longer than that, really, since it has been six months since he passed away. It feels like it happened years ago. I can barely remember how lost I was feeling even before the news ripped my life apart. I was drowning, certainly, despite the best efforts of my loved ones. I had one foot out the door of my west coast apartment, ready to catch a flight back to Ontario, back to unemployment, homelessness, and family.

Now, for the first time in.. years, probably.. I feel happy.


That's the most difficult part - not being able to phone and tell Dad that I'm happy. Next to that is the sly guilt that creeps in; I'm happy on this side of the country, away from my family.

Strangely, it also feels like I just talked to him last week, updating him on my promotion to  manager (in training) of a dog daycare. He doesn't feel very far away when I find a solution to a problem at work, or when I come across a new financial blog, or I watch a show about horses.

It's those things that I try to focus on - keeping his memory close, and that he would be happy that I've found a definition of success that feels authentic for me. I wish my vision wouldn't get fuzzy on long days, when I'm tired and sore, but.. I'll do my best, and I'll keep on trying, even when I feel like I'm drowning.

That's all Dad ever wanted, ..I think.